Two of my actors tell me we need some humor in Trumped. Humor? Humor! I don't know about humor for this play. I mean just what is our take on this presidency about to hit us like a nightmare? I suppose we could insert some humor. Shakespeare has humor, says one actor. Comic relief, yes. Yes, I know about this. So maybe comic relief. Is this the right way to go? By now I am not sure about too many things. Which is a lie. Because I am sure there is nothing funny about Donald Trump. And I think trying to find humor in any of this is a delusion. So, I'm listening to Mozart's Jupiter, my favorite of all symphonies. An incomplete symphony written as the master was approaching his death at a very early age. Written as creditors were pounding on his door. I've always identified with this piece. I'd listen to it out on the porch when Thuy-Duong and the boys were asleep on warm summer nights here by the sea. Those were idyllic nights, idyllic days, a long, long time before Trump and the cynicism and despair that have shrouded America. We all need the Jupiter now. We're all facing oblivion now. Before our time.